


Too Close for Comfort

by IneloquentSD



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, F/M, Geralt does not understand relationships, Not sure Jaskier and Yennefer understand relationships either, Other, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Post-Season/Series 01, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneloquentSD/pseuds/IneloquentSD
Summary: “Absolutely not,” Yennefer says, lips pulled back in a grimace. “We may have grown very close over the past years, but - no.”“We’re friends, Geralt,” Jaskier continues, throwing an arm around Yennefer’s shoulders as he lounges back in his seat. “I know that common wisdom holds that men and women cannot just be friends, but the platonic connection between Yenna and I is as strong and sweet as dwarven mead.”To Geralt’s horror, Yenn giggles, tucking her face into Jaskier’s neck.“Ohhhh, that was a good night!” she laughs.Jaskier dissolves into mirth with her for a long minute. Geralt takes an equally long draw of his ale....When Geralt reconciles with Jaskier and Yennefer, he is surprised to find that they have become... friends. Weird, uncomfortably close friends with almost no boundaries between them.This is fine. He's sure this is fine.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Too Close for Comfort

Geralt is grateful when both Yennefer and Jaskier forgive him. He finds them together, for some reason. While they both require some groveling on his part, they eventually accept his apologies.

Their forgiveness is a relief from a burden Geralt was all too conscious of carrying. No, that tension has dissipated.

_That_ is not why Geralt is so uneasy.

In the two years or so that he’s been absent from their lives, their dynamic has… shifted. To say the least.

It’s maybe a week after their reconciliation that he really starts to notice.

The contract took longer than he expected, and, predictably, he is covered in gore when he limps into the inn where he’d left the two of them for the day.

He remembers being concerned, as he’d set out that morning, that the strange peace he’d witnessed between Jaskier and Yennefer over the past few days would fracture in his absence. He imagined he might return to the town in flames, Jaskier’s larynx bloody in the sorceress’ hands as she glowered down at his corpse in the central square.

Their friendliness is surely for his benefit. It cannot last, and once the truce breaks, it can only be calamitous, Geralt thinks.

Judging by the way Yennefer is perched on Jaskier’s lap, tilting a goblet of wine to his lips, his concerns were misplaced.

Jaskier spots him first, straightening in his seat. His arms unthinkingly reach to balance the sorceress as he shifts.

“Ohh, was it a rough one, darling?” His eyes scan down Geralt’s body, cataloging the ghoul blood smeared on his face to the slowly healing slash across his thigh that’s affecting his gait, and every scratch and smear of grime in between.

Yennefer says nothing, but the smile she had been wearing flattens into a mildly concerned frown.

Their twin regard is… unsettling.

“Not so bad,” he grunts. “A bath, a salve. Should be fine.”

Their faces seem to relax in unison, to the same degree, even. Yennefer settles back into the bard’s chest a bit.

“Fortunately,” she says, “we’ve thought ahead. There’s a bath waiting in the room you and I shared last night.”

“I put out some of that hair oil you used to like,” Jaskier volunteers. His gaze is soft, a small peace offering. “I can help you wash up, if you’d like.”

Geralt studies them for a long moment. Their body language tensed only when they saw him, and then only with worry on his behalf. The longer they speak with him, the more that tension subsides - the more the two of them ease into each other.

“No, thank you,” he says. “I’ll meet the two of you back down here in a bit.”

“We’ll order you some food,” Yennefer decrees.

Geralt turns from the pair to trudge up the stairs, and as he goes, he hears their laughter twine together to pierce through the chatter of the tavern. It is easy, light, a practiced harmony.

The sound of it knots his gut with a subtle and complex discomfort.

Their amicability is no forced truce, nothing new or forged on his behalf. How did he _not notice_ how genuinely comfortable they are with each other?

After that, he can’t _stop_ noticing.

\--

They are nearly inseparable. The two of them lounge in each other’s space, Jaskier’s hands threaded in Yennefer’s hair, Yennefer’s fingers weaving between the buttons of Jaskier’s doublet. They whisper together, with smirks on their faces and affectionate shoves back and forth.

Every other Friday, wherever they are, whatever they’re doing, they will stop to spend the entire night together, alone. If they are separated, Yennefer will open a portal to collect Jaskier, whisking him away to Melitele knows where. They always return the next day, relaxed and smiling.

They refuse to explain how they spend that time. They will snicker and make jokes at the asker’s expense, a united front of mockery.

They finish each other’s sentences, order libations for the other, will stare into each other’s eyes for long moments to have entire silent conversations that Geralt cannot parse for Roach’s life. While it’s not strange that Yennefer is able to read Jaskier’s mind, the fact that Jaskier seems to have developed the ability to read hers in return is, frankly, creepy.

Geralt would think that the two of them are deeply and sincerely in love. Or, at the very least, fucking regularly. But they are adamant in denying any such connection.

“Absolutely not,” Yennefer says, lips pulled back in a grimace. “We may have grown very close over the past years, but - _no._ ”

“We’re friends, Geralt,” Jaskier continues, throwing an arm around Yennefer’s shoulders as he lounges back in his seat. “I know that common wisdom holds that men and women cannot just be friends, but the platonic connection between Yenna and I is as strong and sweet as dwarven mead.”

To Geralt’s horror, Yenn giggles, tucking her face into Jaskier’s neck.

“Ohhhh, that was a good night!” she laughs.

Jaskier dissolves into mirth with her for a long minute. Geralt takes an equally long draw of his ale.

“We’re friends, Geralt,” Yennefer reiterates to him once she regathers her composure. She leans forward, out of Jaskier’s embrace, to place a soft kiss on the Witcher’s cheek. Her lips linger against his skin, warm and fond, the same as when she curled close to him in bed that morning. “Aren’t you glad of it?”

Geralt hums.

He is not sure he is glad of it, if this is what their friendship looks like. But he has so few friends - what does he know of the different shapes that bond can take?

He decides that this is fine.

\--

“Are Yennefer and Jaskier fucking?” Ciri asks.

Geralt spits his ale across the table at her blunt inquiry.

“What?” He splutters.

“Are they fucking?” Ciri repeats. Her gaze is direct and unwavering.

“Mind your language, Cub,” Geralt scolds. Something whirls unpleasantly in his gut, a heavy clunking dread. He does not want to contemplate this question.

“You say ‘fuck’ all the time. Grandmother said ‘fuck’ all the time. I’m fourteen, not six. I can say ‘fuck.'” One of her pale eyebrows quirks downward, unimpressed with his attempt at diversion. “Are the two of them sleeping together?”

Geralt mops up the spilled ale with his sleeve while he gathers himself, and then gulps down what remains in the mug in one long fortifying draft.

He sets his tankard down with a sigh. Ciri’s face is still expectant, unmoved.

“Why do you ask?” he finally says.

“Well,” she starts, “they _say_ they're not sleeping together. I've never seen them kiss. Not like you and Yenn do. But -” she draws in a sharp breath “ - they don’t act like _friends._ I’ve never seen friends who touch each other like that. It's like... Jaskier's body is an extension of Yenn's and Yenn's body is an extension of Jaskier's? It's... Hmm. ”

She trails off for a moment, glancing around briefly to see who might overhear. Then she leans in closer to him, folding her arms on the table.

“I went to ask Yenn a question the other day. Her door was cracked open, so I didn’t think to knock.” She grimaces apologetically. “When I walked in, Yennefer was, um….”

Geralt presses his eyes closed for a moment. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t.

_Fuck._

“What was she doing?”

Ciri blushes.

“She was shaving Jaskier?” Her voice wavers just a bit.

Geralt’s shoulders relax. Okay. That’s… not so bad. Jaskier has demonstrated to Geralt many times over the years that having someone else wield the razor results in a smoother shave. It feels nice, both process and result. Jaskier’s done it for him - why wouldn’t Yennefer do it for Jaskier?

But then Ciri continues.

“She was… not shaving his face,” she explains. Her normally pale complexion is now flushed red. “There were… very few clothes involved.”

Geralt contemplates the exposed bottom of his tankard.

Maybe this is not fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This little crack fic was inspired by this tumblr post: https://ineloquent-tumbling.tumblr.com/post/628728728278728705.
> 
> The denizens of the Yennskier server are all delightful enablers, so now everyone gets to read this. Thank them or curse them, your choice.
> 
> Thanks in particular to some_stars for helping me with the structure of this chapter!
> 
> This will probably end up as some iteration of OT3, but I'll let the characters steer the story. Tags will be updated as necessary.


End file.
